harry and the force




you see young harry stone who was only 13 years old, started being trapped by these

weird paranormal forces beyond his control, well ted bundy, says, i think there is a bit

of hooligan in his itchy feet, and harry hated this, because he was only 13, and he was

too young for tinnea or dermatitis or anything else like that, you see the forces would reach

out into his body, to grab the computer nerd, and said to him, you are scared harry, and we

are trying to **** you ok, harry screamed, LEAVE ME ALONE,  and the forces said, neh oh neh

we will never leave you alone, cause your still a little young dude, harry, harry, wanted to be free

from these terrible forces, but there is no way, known to man, that forces want to leave harry alone,

harry said, leave me alone, i am only young, i am only young, let me go, i am too young to

to be trapped by paranormal forces beyond my control, but the forces said, you are never too young, buddy

we will push the computer nerd away from you, and in the meantime, we will reach in and grab

your little young dude or your hooligan, and harry said, leave me alone, i am not a family person, like that

i am a tad too shy to be a family person to a kidnap, i want to get out, i am too young harry screamed

i want the forces to treat me like a family hooligan, but the forces said, no, i will make you suffer, and harry

was starting to get upset with the forces, but couldn’t control himself, you see he said, let’s put twisted sister

on for a party, and then buy fish and chips, and then harry went away to squeeze himself through a drainpipe, and

one man put a bin lid on both sides and asked someone to hold it, so harry couldn’t get out, but harry can’t escape

and was terribly scared, saying please, take the families, not me, take the families, not me, but the forces said

i prefer to take you, trap your feet, because you are scared, and instead, of making you run away from  us, we have

our ways, to get caught up in your tinnea itchy feet, harry asked, can you left me go, or i will get this fist, and put it

right to your head, and then the forces pushed his feet down into the carpet, and every friend harry had, was forced

by the forces to be harry’s kidnapper, and every time anyone teased harry, the forces will make the teasers kidnappers also,

and harry said, i am a family person, and the forces said, yeah a family person to a tease yeah, don’t be like us harry,

be a little shy boy, allow us, to push your feet down, harry got sick of everyone treating him like a hooligan, but everyone

was having fun using harry as the forces little skate goat and you see all the itchiness, if you look at the X-ray of his foot

ands the paranormal activity, which is forcing harry to be too shy to muck with the families, but the real reason, harry

was saying, i am not like those families who get kidnapped killed or murdered, i hate family people who go to bed early

harry also said, he likes family life, but he likes staying up, while the nerdy family people (little going to bed cool kids)

go to bed, and harry would listen to music watch youtube, perform on youtube, watch TV, and read street machine magazines

but the forces made all his mates like his family better, because they went to bed, so much in fact, they went to bed leaving

harry to be a little young dude staying up all night, playing cool for nerdy families who head off to bed, you see harry loved

to stop up all night, he found that fun, but his father and mother were getting worried about harry, but harry said, he is young

and he runs free, you see every time someone teases him, he would feel kidnapped by the nerdy family people, and

would go home and keep his feet planted on the ground, with the forces saying, harry, you are a family person alright

a family person to a tease, and harry was very upset and yelled out, LEAVE ME THE **** ALONE, his friends said, neh oh neh

you are still a hooligan, harry, but harry got sick of this, in fact he hated, saying just because he stays up all night, doesn’t mean he’s a hooligan

in fact harry is a stay up late little cool dude, and all his mates found harry is cool, and they all said, your like us now, harry

and harry yelled out it’s my life it’s now or never i ain’t going to live forever, i am going to live while i am alive, it’s my life

my heart is like a open highway, i am going to do it my way, it’s my life, and harry then told the forces, don’t you think bon jovi

is really inspiring, man, and the forces said to harry, we are going to keep your feet glued to the floor, like your a hooligan or a nasty

little young dude, and the forces then said, you sit up all night, we go to bed saying don’t be like us, harry, don’t be like us, harry

be a little young dude, buddy, you like us, as they would say to a person who loves to stay up all night, and the forces begin

to bring out a methane filled python and it took a bite out of harry, and harry cried for days, after he woke up with his family

standing on each corner of the bed, and harry noticed the python bites on his fingers but that was to improve the quality of your life

and harry’s sister said, your one of the young dudes harry, and they all went into the kitchen to have breakfast, and the forces

stayed away till the next night, where they can capture harry again, but harry likes staying up all night, playing cool for his nerdy family

HARRY IS BASED ON MYSELF AS A KID, the forces forced me to tie myself up, i have a mental illness all my life, even as a child

i really never thought it was a big deal, don’t follow my path, beat the forces, ok beat the paranormal forces, i was and i stress was one of those crazy people

BUT STAYING UP LATE IS COOL FOR AN ADULT AS WELL, i really don’t want the forces to trap me, anymore, because playing cool for my nerdy family is cool

The saucy heated beat begins
The body and blood starts to rise

The sensual vibration moves
Shaking in the lower meat thighs

Vibrant lights turn off their burn beams
Crowded areas start to glow

I have that richness once again
It’s Electric Chronic-Techno

Arms are tight with a violent sway
Body smooth moves from side to side

The feet are twins glued together
Move into a straight liquid glide

Dance in a mind all becomes one
Gleaming body begins to flow

I have that quickness once again
It’s Electric Chronic-Techno

Take a chance and slide to the left
Then move the twitched out body right

Yell the dance passion out so loud
From the chest of full burning might

Everyone becomes a crazy
In a hot crooked little row

I have that twitchiness once again
It’s Electric Chronic-Techno

Sparked up veins become a robot
Bring into the fake or the real

All the breakers spin the limbs
Move to what the body can feel

The people dressed in colored lights
Starring in a music life show

I have that thickness once again
It’s Electric Chronic-Techno

Blast many bombs of the treble
Bringing in a canon for bass

The music drug enters the mind
Keeping at a speedy trance pace

Powerful injected speakers
Start a quick mind vibrating blow

I have that itchiness once again
It’s Electric Chronic-Techno

People embody together
The happiness like fire spreads

Millions of all colors dance
Laughing from the harmonic meds

A circular world of music
Close your eyes to move fast or slow

I have that sickness once again
It’s Electric Chronic-Techno

Red,
  Stinging,
      Peeling,
Flaky,
   Dry.
It’s skin reborn.

Hard,
  Unmovable,
      Hot,
   Painful.
A curse from the sky.

Irritating blotches
And the itchiness within
Make me cranky
As if boiling my own skin.

What is this stress
making my belly churn
my skin’s itchiness,
my pulse race?

Could it be from
the financial separation,
kids, career,
general obligation?

New starter to train,
bookweek costume,
book balancing,
bithday cake?

Oh wait, I see—
I can do these things,
all of these things,
with a smile and a grin.

It’s you, ex man (child) of mine
looking lost
that unravels me
too easily.

Sometimes I have these dreams where you are taken from me. Your parents are usually the ones to tell me, their faces contorted with grief and streaked with tears. I fall to the floor, and on my knees I sit, everytime without fail, I fall to the floor. I'm not sure if I could call the emotion in my chest pain because that's such an understatement to what's happening in my body. Imagine an elephant sitting on your chest, crushing your lungs so you could not breathe. And imagine yellow jackets swarming inside of you. Your heart is their nest and they drift out, provoked, stinging you over and over; leaving thousands of stabs of pain in your chest, all combining to form one kind of poison. It hurts so bad it almost has this itchiness about it. And then imagine someone smashing your head open with a hammer. No form of thought, nothing being processed. Just darkness. Just grief. And then my dreams change to being at your funeral. What does one wear, I wonder? to an occasion which marks the ending of life as they knew it. I would just sit there.. I can never hear anything, it just hurts so bad. I'm constantly crying, not even able to get a grip on reality. Because it couldn't be real could it? My biggest fear coming true. And before I wake up shaking and so hot but so cold at the same time.. My dreams shift to me driving alone in my car, with that dead expression I get sometimes. Always listening to music, always hungry but having no appetite, always thinking about you. And when I wake up from these dreams, I really do think about you. And I pray. Hard. Not even praying.. Just letting God read my thoughts. Because what would happen if I ever lost you? Oh my god.. I couldn't imagine. I would be absolutely nothing. Worse, than my most hellish dreams. So please don't ever leave me in any way shape or form. I couldn't do it. Not even in my dreams.

I feel it as I sit I feel it when I lay ...
The itchines inside me is fighting me today
stomach fightin pain thats always here to gloat ... yet itchiness takes over
a grin and not do bear ............

Carbs are overloaded yet count away we go
sugar fix awaiting to pain my bigger toe
spots are so a wantin on way to sprout my skin
the ******* even get me where!!!
privacy begins

Dia ..Dia ....betes leave me well alone
pick on someone evil
and make a happy home

Dia ..Dia ..Betes ...let me have some fun
maybe just a choccy bar or scrummy apple crum!!
dip a stick to 6.9 after loads a buns
Dia ..Dia ..Betes got ya on the run

I heard the neighbor-lady through the wall, she said,
"... yes, mhm ... you don't have to ask me questions ...."
Getting hot, perspiring from the shirt, I hate
the itchiness and lifted up my shirt, There!
" ... I have to go ... I'll leave the door unlocked ...."
Then heard a shuffle, sheets and door hinges,
then maybe her step down the hallway.
An unlatched! apartment--I've coveted less--
this and all the pomp, pills, and condoms I've stole,
oh I was up already, zipped myself away,
making the way between diaries and ***** plates,
oh already up opening my door--you guessed?

The hallway was empty; I went right
and door 54, was it this? I put my weight
to it, fogged the eyehole with my breath.
Hand to the **** I turned and it opened.
Augh! The managers who've stopped me,
once I was even tackled by a security guard,
was handcuffed, was once called "heartless"--
if only every door opened like this.

I was shirtless still, in fact, my hand strayed
was raised to my breast and I kneaded
the skin and tugged the hair: I entered.
It was dark and I feared the honesty of light.
I had a step to the next and her kitchen
came upon me, I saw the shadows of her home.
I wandered further as if walking an antiverse;
someone else the same template.
I wanted to find where I lived in her home,
where I sat and heard her often call,
where I imagined she curled phone cords
or refused to snore now matter how hard
I pressed my ears to the wall.
This is it? This is her bedroom,
adjunct to mine, a wall to separate--
she sleeps here.
I've got breathlessness and my hand is groping.
Does she have a closet or dresser? I will see.
She calls a boy by name, is he coming?
When is he? Can I hide here, see him?
oh soon. I'll know too soon, too.

I open the door. And she is staring back.
Her hand against the wall, the spot,
where I rock my body awake from
nightmares. To reach through the
plaster and steal the socks. It was a,
a, a great shame to be so looked upon
so, an inanimate gaze like a mirror's
that maybe can't see me, dunno.
I want to move further, can't.
Can't say anything either.

hi dudes

because of my previous two lives as greame thorne and patrick dunbar being brutally murdered and kidnapped

i have been treated like a little yeah mate yeah kid, you see what i was really saying was please dad let me be like your mob

but i was fighting him like a hooligan, you see the previous lives kidnapping turned me into a little shy boy to the world

you see i wanted to be famous, i ended up in the psych ward

i wanted to be like the cool kids, i ended up grabbing all the cool kids

you see i have been having problems ya see, like last year i was good in my play but this year i am having reincarnation hooligan itchiness in my feet

and i am still watching instead of doing, but i am still doing my art, which this picture is, of me reaching out for my proud fathers love

when he likes the discipline from the army and now i feel he stole the methane smoothie off me, to still treat me like a little yeah mate yeah kid

i want to have views on aaron clayton and aaa youtube tv and i want to have people think i am an interesting writer

i like watching the shaytards and bratayley, i know they are families, but they are cool families, and besides which, ivy gimbert, my gran is annie

from bratayley and my old school mate scott mcdonald who came back as my cat lucky is the youngest son on the shaytards

and i enjoy watching it, i am not trying to get down their pants, i just think they are cool families, but because of my last 2 human lives

i feel i will be begging all my life, and at least i can watch these youtube shows to bring back peace

i feel my dad is at peace now, since i saw his next and current life betty campbell was near jimmy barnes

and this picture is when betty wore a denim shirt and a pink ribbon on her hair

you see i shouldn’t have committed that crime back in 1990, because i could be judged what i watch on youtube

and i don’t want that, i am watching it for artistic purposes, and writing as well

and a lot of it could be religious, you see i can’t read minds, i ain’t doing that

i like famous people and with my gran and nan and dad and uncle ray all in their next lives, i feel they are at peace

and canberra residents say my father in his next life is still like them, and i am still a little yeah mate yeah kid

and this picture shows how much pressure i am under trying to reach out, and now, i am losing my cool streak because

i am going to tribunal hearings instead of photo shoots and acting spots, i am on a psychiatric order instead of a spot on ellen’s show

i want to be famous not be a hardened criminal

and the itchiness shows my laziness like a little yeah mate yeah kid

please read the words and examine the picture

athena is taking my hooligan out of me, bit by bit

I want to avoid my ticks
I want to beat my voices
I know performing in a choir
Could be ****** hard for me
Because of my voices I have in my head
I am hearing voices that if I joined the choir I will get laughed at
I want to give it a go
But I need to avoid every tick in my brain
I have to avoid my hooligan who plays cool for yeah mate yeah Kids to not take too much affect
I have to avoid listening to my voices and concentrate on the choir
I know it could be hard because my hooligan can cause affect
You see I have to stop the crazy itchiness in my stomach when I think of being in the choir
I know I said I can do it in my next life but I want to give this a go but the medication I am on
I still have these voices in my head
You see I don't want to buy cigarettes for young kids cause that is so wrong and I don't want people to urge someone on to bash me up because I am a person I am not a robot or mechanical being you see I don't want to have itchy brains or itchy feet I don't want people to bully me around because dudes I am a person

Believe me when I say that I never intended for any of this to happen.
What I mean to say is,
back when we first started seeing each other,
and you waited 30 minutes before responding to my texts and
I got nervous speaking to you ,
I couldn’t picture any of this happening.

Perhaps I could have imagined us kissing in some restaurant, or maybe even holding hands in line at the movie theatre, but the rest of it? Well, that I could not have imagined.

I guess at this point it’s embarrassing, right? Not embarrassing like when I think I start work at 6 but I actually start at 5 and I run in an hour late and everyone stares at me.
It doesn’t make me red in the face or anything like that.
It’s just humiliating.
I know the way I sound when I talk about you: silly, young, a character from a Sarah Dessen novel, but mostly like someone I would make fun of. That’s the thing that embarrasses me the most — that this thing has turned me into someone else.
It’s that other person  
that needy, grabby salesman of a person
that you don’t like, right? Is that the thing you can't stand about me?
That neediness?
That itchiness?
The way I look at you, the way I change my plans for you?
How did I become one of those girls who work at a department store and follow you from rack to rack.
“Do you need anything?”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Is there anything in particular today that you’re looking for?”
If I cared less, would you care more? At first I was going to ask
“would you care at all,”
but that’s not right, is it? You care about me, you do.
You value me.
Probably. I mean, if someone asked you if you value me, you would say yes.
You just don’t actively value me. It seems like that wouldn’t make a difference, but it makes a huge difference.

I’ve manicured my hands and
dyed my hair and
perfumed my skin for you and, the whole while, I’ve told myself that it would make you want me.

I’ve made sure I was the funniest in the room, the wittiest in the conversation, convincing myself that it would make you change your mind.
It should be noted that these are precisely the kind of facts that humiliate me.
It didn’t work.
None of it worked.
Isn’t that funny?
I mean, not ha-ha-funny, but you have to admit
there is something laugh-worthy about it.

I mean, I once spent the whole day getting my hair cut and blown out because you said you thought Id be too brown for red hair so I went and got something that would work.

Because I wanted a change but I needed to accommodate to you.

HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!

I have told you so much, but there are pieces I have learned to keep hidden from you over these few months.
Perhaps, these are the parts I will eventually learn to compartmentalize and keep hidden from myself,
as well.

It’s no question in my mind:
When a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it, it does not make a sound, it did not fall.

I don’t move on well.

I sit in a box labeled “Past Things.”

One of those boxes that you shove in the attic or basement and you keep your childhood dolls and high school awards in it.

I do not know why this is.

Maybe I don’t want to move on.

Do you think that’s it?

I’m sorry; that’s an unfair question, isn’t it?
Well, while I’m at it, can I ask more unfair questions?
Is there anything I can do?
I can be more honest or less harsh or less anxious or more quiet.
Do you like quiet girls? I could be a quiet girl.

Yes, I could certainly be one of those quiet girls.
Just tell me what to do it and I’ll do it.
I’m sorry.
I’m doing it again, aren’t I?
The thing you don’t like about me isn’t my hair color or my laugh that’s a bit too loud or anything like that.

It’s the questions and neediness. It's that isn't it?

beautiful morning
    amber filtered . . .
                      with the forest fire smog
it's fine   don't worry
    it's been carried a great distance
                 to reach our city
a slight itchiness to the eyes
a slight betrayal      with breathing being
                                    a little harsh for some
beautiful morning
        teased branches
                       their tinsel shadows
               and a warm rustle

suddenly filled with confidence
I forget the turmoil of that past hour
I rage with a pulsing desire for activity
and jump and finish quickly my tasks

suddenly filled with an itchiness
I want to accomplish like an emperor fresh to his throne
I lust for a chance to prove my worth
and I look for all the possibilities of this world, now mine.

Recurrent fixations
Brain and body stuck in the white noise of pain and anguish
Their scratched records echoing time
Memories returning needing to be demolished
Films of sweat gathering on the surface of the skin
Itchiness and jittery thoughts
Hallucinations brimming on the surface
Pale from nocturnal lifetime
The vampiric urge to ingest powders of delight and death
The soul stripped of all life, but just one more fix
A fix to bring us back to life
Oh life, you are reduced to one meaning

Awakening to surrounding grotesqueries waiting for memories of night time revelries to reappear and brighten the face before thoughts become sick and obsessed on one ideal
Life, a permanent black punctuated by brief moments of pure white light whose glow depletes with every jab in the squalid, stinking, putrid conditions
Sickness seeping into every pore
Twisted souls kicking and screaming torments at the day
Calling for gods to release the pain
Listening at the night for the fireworks of relief
Control relinquished to flowers of romance
Their seeds vomiting life back once more

Shaking hands and rapid increase in the beating heart
Licking lips in anticipation whilst muscle memory rituals of bent, blackened spoons and vein raising ties pave the way for temporary bliss of pure white light and uncontrollable pleasure
My distorted life of dishonest and fraudulent ways return once more

It happened for a reason,
Nothing make sense,
My heart is broken,
Torn apart from my yesterday's
Weeping all it's tears filling up the wells of the oceans
It happened for a reason
My eyes are weary for not seeing you,
My veins get weak whereas you not near
I get itchiness in my heart without your caresses
It happened for a reason
I felt in love with your smiles
Your eyes, Your heart, Your essence, Your skin, Your lips Your touches,
You've risen me from my tomb,
For i was dead living,
Without dreams, hopes and wonders,
You filled me with life and affection,
It happened for a reason.

I see you every time
I close my eyes
And I can’t seem to
Get you outta my mind.

The constant flow of tears
Down my cheeks and the
Tears forming in my eyes
Year after year reminds me

Of all the pain you’ve
Brought me
And all the pain
I’ve brought to myself

Trying to deal with
Your ******* but
No matter how hard I try
You’re stuck in my mind

Like duct tape and
Every time I try to peel
You off smoothly
You cut deeper until

I bleed more like
A child picking at
His scab over
And over again

Even though his mom tells
Him to stop every time but
He keeps doing it because
It annoys the hell outta him

And picking at the scab
Makes the itchiness go away
For only a second and then
The itchiness, the urge comes back

And you can’t help but
Scratch it again until
It bleeds again and until
You need to scratch it again.

You are my heart’s scab that
Annoys the hell outta me and
I can’t help but scratch it and
Pick at it until my heart bleeds

From the hexagon, everything is dimensioned on the peaks that can be seen in the starry nights from the curved kilometers of Bethlehem. Everything goes on top of the Desert Mountains and valleys, above the vagueness of climatic heights and landslides of an entire believing community and its followers. In twelve camels they advance, of which the first six are exclusive to the Birthright, and then the seventh Giga camel is from King David of Bethlehem.

The beams are part of the architectural support of the physical-ethereal God and his ethereal-physical word, supposedly of advent and in grazing of the strengths and anomalies of secrets of a new Aramaic message advanced with the vigor of insects and birds that were grouped in the journey that goes back and forth. The Beams are stars of heaven sustained by the Cherubim and the Archangels, through the paths of conversion and the support of the Christian time; haughty and implacable hegemony for the propaedeutics of phylogeny, but more so, in the very chemistry of creation carrying its winged Lepidoptera tetra, the pheromones and obfuscations of a nascent and elemental child in his own evangelical philosophy from a dimensionality between swords and The gloom of a Kafersesuh shouted Manger, before the compendiums of two pyramidal landmarks of the inflection of his word in the animals created in the world and animalia, personalizing muleteers carriers of pollinations and all the generational language that is so concealed far, as are the turns in the musks and their legitimacies of the Baptistery of the Shepherds in Ein Karem, parabolizing the nomenclature and polygonia of a child made man, already being one!, but representing himself as a lifeless man in the fullness of a child of an advantageous canon.

The Kabbalistic engineering of the one-dimensionality of length and breadth adds slack to the rejoicing hours of Joshua's time in the manger, giving the auxiliary dimension perpendicular to the deck of the Kafersesuh, which appeared to be in a two-horse cart, ready to be transported. towards a predominant horizontal, making tension with the itchiness of the visual in perspective of pulled establishment and compression effort of the infant in the corral, observed the results of the cops, which varied the volume of their appreciations when moving away as animal feed, towards the same nourishing for men, characterizing bedroom body volumization and reducing their body stretching them by means of their eyes. Before the company of the shepherds, Mariah and Joseph, they supported him towards the superlative of the bending moments close to him, twisting and changing their squeezing pressure on the cords that forged his path towards the cornices and trusses of the upper celestial vault, where he was the shed of doubts next to the cherubs. Giving mechanics to the prism that arched the beams in the horizontal lines, taking them towards the amplitude of other lines, which remained solid before the variation, suspecting to mutate to one of sudden two-dimensionality. The sections of the timber framing looked fatigued before the primary classification, which demonstrated the attitude of the little Messiah by bringing out its beams and rolling in other pillars, postponing the tangential vectors, contributing bits of rhomboid specialties, which blurred the field amplitude cylinders vision of all who remained in his nativity. Making straight glances so as not to be distracted and adore him with a wide and rectilinear heart, which in its transversality made them visualize for all in the one-dimensional crossed wood, which in its geometry schematizes letters and numbers of kabbalah, which differ in the dissimilar resistance of their ambivalence Christic, as anticipation of martyrdom on the tree of Golgotha. This foreshadowed his abilities to read them in the Torah and Zohar, gathering everything into one whole of those vivid tormenting lapses that he felt in advance, as reversible entropy, giving back his life to prepare them for the day of his abolished martyrdom.

In a jiffy for a moment ..., the bending of the One-Dimensional Beam separated from the inertia in bending voids, specifying the exact spatiality of the beams selected one with the other millimetrically, making the vertical ones, of which carols were still chanting penetrating into the corners of the ponderous ears of the donkeys, like braces of Hebraic trusses in the last breath that was written with symbols of their Aramaic gaze and capricious matron hood, a comparison of Queen Apollonian reflected in Mariah, who appeared era and credibly identified in her typology, gifted in the clothing of the second century BC, having to be associated in the divinity of Aphrodite, for the usual lineage of Vernarth, pigeonholing him in a Hellenistic aspect, pre-existing in patronage characteristics as a representative figure of male and female of Ptolemaic Egypt, as a great icon of religiosity coexisting as a priestess of the female order in Greek rituals together or Him.  Making inseparable the preeminence of mother and child, as a unilateral gender, and as a substantial element for the social and political order that reigned in the ancient era. Lying here the unilateral gender is indispensable for the social and political order, which is substantiated at the dawn of the empires of the time, and the patriarchal society. Symbolically Joshua in this cogitabundant providence, adds the feminine value in the society in the Kafersesuh tent of the Judah manger, dispensing mainly to women, taking her ties of demigod heroine in the powers of benevolence and of matriarchal fertile posterity, as the Eden of the Living Language ”.

A great Zohar light, gathered all towards a whole in those errors that Joshua felt in advance, as reversible entropy, giving back his wise existence to prepare them for the day of his sacrifice. Pre Existing in catharsis and substance of divinity connected with the phylogenetic species, classifying up to an Aramaic pontificate of pheromones settled in the lithospheric site of Gethsemane, in a biological sense and in close coincidence in the lapse wading, or in the phenomenological simultaneity of Eukaryote and from Glaucophyta to late Animalia, giving parental relationship in the characters of the vibrational timbre of the Beams and the atavistic pedestal, readapting in the evolutionary elliptical of winged tetra species.  Allowing changing ancestral linguistic accoutrements in processes of redesigning the divine genetic historical tree and increasing anomalies in the human and non-human anthropomorphic earthly culture, in a reviving profanity of fruitive frequency amplitudes, for those who resort to it, monopolizing synchronicity in the diachronic of their specimens. The lights of Joshua's gazes are the Light of Life and Christian Time, in the entity of Joshua born and lifeless from the nature of Child-Man, but of mortal design in the same compulsion to see him in luminescence in a life of the Kafersesuh manger and only of ethereal unity. Being in exemption from Ego with his structure of a living child and a dead man, he rushes rebellious and ostentatious in the architecture of the One-dimensional Beams, giving up the glimpse of his aforementioned progenitor "Eye versus Eye", seeing himself like this ..., son hovering in the arteries of a Universal-Duoversal life, from a single dimension of cyclical unidimensional length, encompassing conjectures and biological, the symbolic-allegorical conception of extreme co-divinity, as the exclusive precept of the delicate infinity of the Being of a Messiah, with paraphrases or glosses of exegetical affinity Aramaic, tracing from a linguistic period. Here are the conditionalities of the Olive Berna transfigured into everlasting orality and refractory syllable, to incubate eternal rabbinic gifts of perpetual reluctance, beyond the reach of the ego-annihilating will and of ultra-affections of inert apathy and miraculous phenomena, understanding that the language is born and dies being reborn empathic ..., idem as a neighbor of well revived and also, in the same way, emitting himself alive and reborn in his anarchy, for the subsequent splendor and theological gibberish, with thunderous loans and phantasmagoric elixir, except for limited magnets on the Lemurs, with double codes of duplicity and bene-malignant spectra, adducing words in which to reside for languages to destroy and vice versa, insecure states of chrysalis in those Olives Berna fruits, as gastro-larvae of great living genus and their seasons in "Beams turned into tongues of magnetic iron"

Itchiness burning pain swelling or bleeding in this morning so we wool and that is why this to be with you and that is why I  went home and to give it to my brother Tay to......